Footprints on the Sands of Time
by TheDVirus
Summary: Sandy has been around for a long time. He remembers how, centuries ago, he was the first and only Guardian until an encounter with a certain 'monster' changed his life forever. Pitch Black origin story (slight AU). Non pairing! Continues in 'A Halloween Fairy Tale' and its sequels.
1. Chapter 1

The beast was close.

Sanderson could sense its dark aura as he floated carefully above the treetops. His golden eyes scanned the forest for any sign of movement. The full moon shone overhead and Sandy was grateful for the light Tsar Lunar was giving him.

He had been hunting the beast for three nights now. It hadn't dared to enter the village on the edge of the forest yet but Sanderson knew it was growing bolder. Soon the little lanterns the villagers hung outside their wooden homes would be no deterrent.

He hadn't quite figured out what it was. Using Sanderson's dreamsand as a conduit, Tsar Lunar had told him it had fallen to Earth, trapped within a black meteorite. Apparently it was some sort of energy feeder, akin to how Sanderson was powered by belief. Lunar did not know exactly what it fed on but he certainly did not like how close it was getting to the isolated village.

Sanderson didn't like it either.

He also didn't like how crafty the beast was. He had already tried setting traps for it such as golden nets formed from his dream sand. Each one had been easily dodged, destroyed or ignored by the creature. So Sanderson had decided to simply wait: to be a fisherman rather than a hunter. The creature had shown no inclination to leave: there was definitely something in the village it wanted.

'Well', thought Sanderson, 'It's not getting it without a fight'. He, the Guardian of Childhood and Master of Dreams, would make sure of that.

He had spotted it a couple of times. One moment it had been a hulking black mass with pale eyes glowing in the centre. Then it had become a sinuous serpent slipping over logs and sliding on the surface of the river. Finally, when he had thought he had it cornered, it had burst into a cloud of leathery winged shadows that had escaped into the trees.

Now, as he narrowed his eyes, he thought he could see something moving ahead of him. A chill wind blew through the trees, carrying with it an unusual sound. A gentle sound like sighing. He swooped behind the top of a particularly large tree and watched the creature approach.

It was moving carefully and quietly. In this case, it had taken on a more recognisable form: that of a large wolf. It was not perfect though. Occasionally Sanderson saw its paw melt into the dark grass or it move too fluidly to be a solid creature. As it sniffed the air, Sanderson manifested a thick rope of dream sand, taking care not to let his golden aura peek out from his hiding place.

As the creature passed beneath his tree, Sanderson leapt and landed on the creature's back, slinging the dreamsand lasso around its neck.

The creature dissolved its body instantly but could not change the shape of its head. The dreamsand was doing its work: containing the creature's powers. Sanderson used his free hand to create a sword. He slashed at the tentacles the creature was using to attack him and glared back at the wolf's snapping black teeth. He was thrown about, trying desperately to keep hold on the creature's glossy, slick hide. It took flight, barrelling through the undergrowth and trees. It banged him into rough bark and dragged him through the river. He tried to choke it and wear it down.

Finally it seemed the creature was tiring. It tentacles could not be kept aloft any longer and one by one they fell to the ground. Sanderson watched each one be reabsorbed. The creature was forced to land, its wings falling away like leaves in Autumn. The creature fell heavily on to its side and lay there, its form reverting to the shape of the wolf to match its unchanged head. A grey tongue lolled from between its teeth as it panted in exhaustion. Grey, unfocused eyes looked at the forest floor.

Sanderson had to get it into the moonlight now! Before it regained its strength. Conjuring additional golden ropes that bound its paws and its muzzle, he dragged it to a nearby clearing. The moon shone down and Sanderson could feel Tsar Lunar's eyes on him and the creature. He knew Tsar Lunar could destroy it if it was a creature of darkness. All it would take was concentrated moonlight.

He rubbed his hands, ruefully looking at the welts and cuts on his fingers.

But then smiled as he noticed a familiar sensation flapping around his hair.

He watched the moths cluster around his golden light. They always tickled!

But now was not the time for distraction. He and Lunar had a job to do.

He saw the moon begin to glow and a thin beam of concentrated light begin to creep slowly along the grass. Lunar was beginning the unpleasant task. He was a good spirit, of that Sanderson had no doubt. But when it came to beings of shadow, there was no mercy.

He turned to watch the sorry scene, causing the moths to flap away and stopped dead.

He watched the creature extend a tentacle with surprising gentleness. A single moth landed, its silvery wings fluttering as it settled.

Sanderson heard the creature make a strange noise.

It sounded…contented?

Maybe…

He hastily jumped in front of the creature, holding up a hand to the moon. The beam's steady approach ceased. Sanderson could sense Lunar waiting patiently for an explanation.

Sanderson would always more in favour of showing than telling.

Moving in front of the creature, he heard it growl as the moth fluttered away. It stirred menacingly, coiling back like a reptile preparing to attack. Its pale pupil-less eyes narrowed and a maw opened, displaying needle like teeth.

Sanderson held out a hand, palm open. Hopefully the creature was like an Earth animal that way and could read his lack of aggression.

It didn't bite him at least. It cocked it's still wolflike head curiously. Sanderson's hand rested on its hide. It was like velvet: cool and soft. Sanderson met its gaze. It still didn't bite. That settled it.

It was more than an animal. It just didn't know how to be anything else.

Sanderson stood back and prepared the magic. He would help it.

As he began to weave the dreamsand in a complex swirling pattern, the creature's head swivelled. Its eyes widened at the shining spectacle and Sanderson watched in amazement as it playfully tried to catch some of the sand on its tongue.

The net suddenly tightened and the creature seemed to fold in on itself. Eclipsed by a ball of golden light, Sanderson began to help the creature mould into a new shape. One to help it fit in. One it could use to communicate with others. One that he could understand.

Abruptly, the mass inside the circular sandstorm shrank. Sanderson was careful to contain the creature's power but not diminish it. As he sealed the spell, an unearthly roar from within was transformed into a high pitched scream.

He was finished.

Muttering the unravelling incantation, the sphere dissipated. The golden sand rose like embers and disappeared into the sea of stars.

A naked boy knelt on the ground where the creature had been. He was staring raptly at the moon. Sanderson knew who was talking to him and knew better than to intrude.

The boy was grey skinned with messy black hair. As Sandy created a robe for him from golden dreamsand, the boy just continued to stare at the moon. His eyes were narrow and to Sanderson's surprise, now a bright golden. A side effect of the magic he assumed. As he layered the clothes onto the boy's slim frame, the material became a deep black, the soft golden dream dust fading like ice melting on a pond.

After a little while, the moon lost its bright glow and drifted behind a cloud. The audience was over.

Sanderson and the boy were left alone in the clearing.

The boy tried to rise but stumbled. Sanderson floated over and offered the boy his hand. The boy took it after a moment of hesitation. His grip was strong but soft, like the creature's. Picking up a nearby staff like branch, the boy used it to stand on his new legs. He stood quietly and Sanderson could sense his uncertainty. Everything was new to the boy. Everything was scary.

'Did he tell you your name?' Sanderson asked, smiling encouragingly. He would watch the boy. He was his responsibility now. Maybe he could become a Guardian in his own right? There was no doubt that the boy was powerful. Sanderson had felt his temper first hand. If that could be tempered with patience and focused with friendship, they could achieve so much!

The boy looked at him and after a few experimental breaths with his new body, found his own quiet voice.

'Pitch Black', came the reply with a smile in return.


	2. Chapter 2

The first few months passed quickly for the two new companions.  
Pitch called Sanderson 'Sandy' for short. His explanation that since 'The Man in the Moon' had given him a nickname, he would give both Sanderson and his lunar benefactor nicknames too.  
Sandy never found out Pitch's real name. The boy always smiled and said 'Pitch Black' was who he was now and he liked it. Nothing from before that mattered.  
It certainly did not matter to Sandy.

Sandy taught him what he called 'The Golden Rules'. Pitch wasn't a Guardian like he was but since he would be acting as an apprentice of sorts, it made sense to indoctrinate him just as Sandy had been.  
Don't be seen. Don't interfere. Don't misuse your powers.  
Before Sandy had first come to Earth, Tsar Lunar had given him a much longer briefing: about the humans that lived on the planet etc.  
This hadn't been necessary with Pitch. When Sandy had transformed him, he had taken the liberty of sharing some of his memories with the boy. As a result, Pitch could function as well as any human despite never having been one before.

Sandy's job was to spread dreams to the children of the world. It was both a great honour and a rewarding task. Tsar Lunar had chosen Sandy specifically to safeguard this planet which he had faithfully and fondly watched for centuries. That said, Sandy had often felt lonely. Lunar had promised there would be other Guardians eventually but a promise was poor company.

Pitch was a capable student, intelligent and articulate while also possessing a childlike wonder at the world around him.  
This sometimes meant it was difficult to get him to concentrate. He was always poking through cupboards and dark shadowy places. Purely out of curiosity.  
Sandy had once advised him of the old adage 'knowledge is power' and he had taken it to heart. The town library was one of his favourite haunts on those occasions he went exploring without Sandy. Many times Sandy would float past the window to check on him and find him sitting beside a pile of tomes, engrossed in the world of words.

However there were stumbles on their road together.

Pitch could not get the hang of dreamsand.  
Every time he touched it, it fell to the ground in thick black clumps. Sandy had even tried creating a sand unicorn and encouraging Pitch to move it. As soon as he had tried to, it had warped into a hideous shadow horse. Pitch had been so frustrated that he had swatted it into a million pieces.  
As Sandy had gathered them, returning them to their golden glow, he had tried to reassure the boy. It took time to master the sand. It took patience.  
Pitch had just laughed, saying it hadn't bothered him and he would try again when he was less tired.  
He never tried again.  
Instead, when he accompanied his teacher on his nightly rounds dispensing dreams to children, he kept a lookout for alert parents or slipped inside houses as a shadow to give Sandy easy entry.

Pitch had kept his shape shifting abilities but could not seem to manage wholesome forms.  
A large spider or a wolf was no problem. A bunny or a butterfly were serious challenges. However he had managed a moth with tattered wings and a lean hare after a few hours intense practice. His powers were likely tuned to his personality. With his reserved nature and intense mind, appearing as an energetic puppy or a colourful, flitting butterfly would have been blatant lies.  
It was like asking an undertaker to be a clown.  
Pitch liked flying the most. Often Sanderson saw him flying as a glossy raven, swooping and diving as he caught the moonlight on his wings. Pitch loved the moon: it had been the first thing he had seen with his new eyes.

But after a while, this fondness began to show the tell-tale signs of obsession. He would ask Sandy questions about The Man in the Moon every night. Sandy answered as best he could but admitted he did not have all the answers. He was just one of Tsar Lunar's many servants after all. He disliked the term 'soldier'. It seemed at odds with his peaceful task.

Pitch also had a bad habit of eavesdropping and relished in telling Sanderson what gossip he had uncovered. Sanderson reprimanded him for it but not too harshly. He was young after all and when you could not be seen or heard, the damage that could result from a bad habit here and there was minimal. Besides some of the techniques he used to uncover information were impressive such as hiding in shadows or appearing as a ghostly image in mirrors.

It was during one summer evening, sitting on top of the town chapel rooftop, that Pitch admitted another source of information. It began with a simple question but the answer had and has astounded humans for eons.

'Why am I here?'

Pitch lay, hands behind his head with Sandy perched on the sill of the bell tower beside him. The rivers of dreamsand were flowing freely throughout the town.

'I suppose that is up to you', Sandy replied. He knew Pitch had been deep in thought lately and had expected something like this sooner or later.

'It just would be nice to have some idea of what I'm meant to do', Pitch sighed, 'and I need to prove that your trust in me is well placed'.

'I know it is. You don't need to prove anything to me'.

'Not to you. To him', Pitch said, pointing to where a crescent moon hung behind a cloud, 'Does he ever talk to you?'

'Sometimes in dreams or through the sand but they are short conversations'.

'I don't dream. He only spoke to me once'.

'I remember'.

Pitch stood up abruptly.

'I'm not like you Sandy', he stated.

'What is on your mind?' Sandy asked, cutting to the chase.

Pitch looked at his hands and flexed his fingers.

'I can't touch the sand without ruining it'.

'It is simply a matter of practice'.

The fingers curled into fists and Pitch pivoted to face his teacher. His face was tight, eyes burning with sadness and frustration.

'But I do practice! I can feel it want to move for me. It just doesn't work for me the way it works for you!'

'It is like your shape changing. We all have our talents and -'

Pitch clapped his hands loudly and continued his tirade.

'That's another thing! Why can't I manage a butterfly? They're tiny! How is it I can transform into a dragon but I can't make myself a stupid butterfly?!'

'And why do you want to be a butterfly? Are you unhappy with being yourself?'

'I'm not in the mood for your stupid philosophy questions!'

'Calm down Pitch'.

Pitch seemed about to retort but Sandy's stern face brooked no further outburst.  
He sank back to the roof, drew his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. He was a tall youth but right now, he looked small and lost. Sandy resisted the urge to touch his shoulder: Pitch was wary of contact and in his state of mind, it would most likely just upset him further.

'I hear things sometimes'.

The admission was barely above a whisper. Thankfully, Sandy had made a life out of being a good listener.

'Things I don't want to'.

'What kind of things?'

'Like whispers in my head', Pitch elaborated, tapping his head with one finger, 'Only without sound'.

He attempted a laugh but it came out hollow.

'You probably think I'm crazy'.

'You are still young. Maybe it is another kind of magic: trying to help you figure out what you are here to do'.

'Maybe'.

'Does it frighten you?'

'No!'

The answer came too fast and sure for Sandy's liking. Pitch was on his feet again, twirling his staff in faux combat poses.

'It's just annoying. By the way did you know the baker's wife is afraid of him leaving her?'

'What?'

'And he's afraid that she'll find out he's sleeping with the new female schoolteacher. His children are afraid of spiders, the dark and the forest collectively and water, dying alone and birds respectively'.

'Did the voices tell you these things?'

'Some of them'.

Pitch laughed again. This one disturbed Sandy for a different reason. It was spiteful. Dark.

'Everyone in town knows about the baker and the schoolteacher. Funniest part is, so does his wife, she just won't admit it to herself!'

Pitch's laughter trailed off and he looked at Sandy as if awaiting a response. Sandy was perplexed at the behaviour. Was Pitch challenging him? Was it his imagination or had the shadows lengthened around them?  
He took a deep breath and answered as neutrally as he could.

'This gift you have could be a worthy weapon in the cause for good Pitch. But with great power comes equally great temptation. Please use it carefully. If you need me, I will do everything I can to help you'.

Just like that, Pitch's smile was genuine again. The night seemed to shrink back and his eyes lost their burning intensity.

'I know Sandy'.

As Pitch sat back down, unbeknownst to him, Sandy was thinking the same thing he was.

'_But I don't think you can'._


	3. Chapter 3

'This sickness is getting worse', Sandy said.

He and Pitch stood in the snow outside the large wooden cabin that served the town as a hospital. Inside, the building was crammed with concerned families clustered around beds. The town doctor and his two nurses could be seen hurrying between beds, weaving through the mass of people. They had been buoyed by volunteers from town in the last week as the sickness had intensified but the atmosphere was still pervaded by a feeling of desperate urgency.

The first case had appeared the month before. A little boy had collapsed while returning home with his sister from gathering firewood at sunset. He had not woken up. He was alive but no amount of noise could wake him. Within two days, his sister had also fallen ill. Now, the hospital's two floors of occupied beds signified the toll of the sickness.

It was not a quiet sleep the victims fell into. Even outside, the pair could hear whimpering and twitching as the patients ran from monsters in their minds. There were even screams.  
The victims had just one thing in common: they were all children.

Sandy was hesitant to use dreamsand, concerned that it would make the situation worse. The sand had the power to heal but only if the user had some idea of what he was dealing with. The victims were suffering from the effects of bad dreams and it was obvious these were not ordinary human nightmares. The last thing he wanted to send them into even deeper slumber by accident.

As the snow fell, Sandy looked at Pitch. The youth's face was illuminated by the lamps within and his eyes were narrowed.  
He had been distracted recently: less enthusiastic to accompany Sandy on his nocturnal duties.

Pitch had not been feeling himself.  
He had not confided in Sandy because he was sure it was only a temporary thing. Probably due to the issues in the town. If he was a Guardian after all, or at least meant to be one, perhaps his powers were being affected by the sadness. True, Sandy hadn't been affected but they were very different.

He had told Sandy about the constant emptiness he felt though.  
Guardians had no need to eat but Pitch had (regretfully) stolen a couple of apples from a stall to see if they would sate the hunger he felt. He had felt them in his stomach but they had not even come close to taking the edge off the nagging sensation.  
Sandy had taught him a meditational trick to help him 'find his centre'. According to the diminutive dream master each Guardian was powered by a particular trait. Sandy, using himself as an example had explained how he was powered by the ability of humans to dream. If Pitch found his centre, he would be a Guardian and the lackadaisical feeling would vanish.  
However, much like the dreamsand, it hadn't worked.  
It had also had the unpleasant side effect of increasing the intensity of Pitch's internal unidentified voices. Their whispering was strongest at night, ironically when he was most active. He hadn't been sleeping as a result and the emptiness he felt had only increased.  
But, even in his weakened state, Pitch could feel something powerful inside the hospital. Each human seemed to be eerily glowing. Was it a trick of the light? Steam on the window perhaps. And yet, he could hear something calling to him. It was something he wanted so badly it ached. Every second he spent out here felt as if he was denying something deep and instinctive. The sensation of longing was clouding his mind and at first he didn't hear Sandy speak to him.

'Perhaps the forest could give us a clue. Pitch?'

'What? Sorry Sandy. I was miles away'.

'Are you alright?'

'Yes. Just not sure what to make of this'.

'I was saying perhaps if we explore the forest we might get an insight into what's going on'.

'Perhaps we could examine the first boy infected while we're here? I know you say not to be seen but the only ones that can see us are all sleeping'.

'Good idea'.

Sandy floated up to the second floor window. He knew which window led to the boy's room but with the heavy curtains closed against the cold, it was impossible to tell what was on the other side. Thankfully, Pitch had already snuck around the back of the building to investigate.

Pitch gained entry easily enough. He slipped inside when the doctor unlocked the back door for a quick puff on his pipe but was encountering other difficulties.  
For safety (since there were healthy child visitors within) he had attempted to become insubstantial but found himself flickering back and forth between his solid and his ghostlike shadow form.  
It was just so damn hard to concentrate!  
Inside, the voices were so overpowering it was like being underwater.  
It was overwhelming. He couldn't tell which voices were real, which ones were in his head and which ones weren't words at all but actually human thoughts somehow bleeding into reality.  
_Is he going to be alright? God help us! I'm so frightened! Why aren't the doctors doing anything?! Please someone help my brother!_ _Make it stop! What have we done to deserve this?!  
_It wasmaddening!  
But somehow so tantalizing…so intriguing.  
Breathing heavily, he focused on the weightlessness and quiet of the shadows and finally achieved the shadow state he wanted. Slipping up the stairs, he found the boy's room and slipped through the keyhole.

A few minutes later, Sandy entered through the window Pitch had opened.  
The boy's father, a local woodcutter, was dozing in a chair by the boy's bed. The sister had obviously been roomed separately. The candle on the bedside table flickered in the cold breeze even as Pitch closed the curtains once more. He always left the windows open in case they had to escape quickly.  
Sandy knew they would have to be quick.  
With Pitch keeping a close eye on the father for signs of waking, Sandy moved to the bed.  
A touch of the child's forehead signified a fever, the pillow damp with sweat.  
Sandy could sense the child's disquiet and see it in his chattering teeth and tense face.  
The child was pale and far too thin. Even for a harsh winter, the boy was peaky and his cheekbones were prominent. Though he was asleep, dark bags shone under his flickering eyelids.  
Sandy prepared a small searching spell, gently guiding some dreamsand into the boy's nose to calm his breathing.  
The child whimpered slightly as Sandy began to try and locate the source of the boy's nightmare. As the sand worked its magic, the boy seemed to relax but then jerked.  
Sandy yanked on the dreamsand, withdrawing it. He had felt something interfere with his magic.  
Something…alive?!  
The sand came free in a cloud. Pitch turned at the sudden movement and both Guardian and apprentice stood aghast at what they saw in it.

Ash like flecks danced and squirmed within the golden grains. Pitch could make out reaching tiny shadowy hands. Small white eyes blinked and dark mouths gaped, lapping hungrily at the sand.  
There were dark parasites inside the children!  
As Pitch raised his staff to smite them, they abruptly broke free of the sand and swept towards the window like shiny black leeches. With unexpected strength for their size, they surged through the curtains, blowing them open as they disappeared into the dark of the night.

Pitch grabbed a straggler. It twisted and clawed ineffectually at his grip as he brought it closer to Sandy.

'What on Earth is it?!' he asked, crushing its attempts at escape with the pressure of his thumbnail.

'It's not from Earth at all', Sandy said grimly, 'But I thought they were all gone'.

'Are these the shadow creatures you told me about? The ones who destroyed Manny's homeworld?'

'No', Sandy shook his head, 'These are too weak. Though their appetites are the same. Bad dreams give them power'.

Sandy looked outside and had a realization when he noticed the empty night sky.

'They must only move when Tsar Lunar can't see them. At the dark of the moon'.

'Well, if he can't help the children, can you?' Pitch asked.

Sandy scratched his head.

'I need time to think. I have never seen anything quite like this before'.

A sudden yell interrupted the discussion.

'Get out demon!'

The chill breeze had awoken the boy's father.

He lunged at Pitch with a hastily grabbed poker and swung it like a sword. Sandy tried to grab the man but phased right through him. The man did not notice. Sandy was not real to him but for some reason, Pitch was!

'Stay away from my son!' he roared.

'Pitch!' Sandy cried, 'Restrain him!'

'Fool!' Pitch growled at the man.

His teeth lengthened in anger as he clouted the man with his staff, knocking him to his knees. Pitch kicked the poker away and cowed the man with a vicious lion like roar. He grabbed the unfortunate father by the collar and held him up as a clear target for Sandy.  
Sandy did not hesitate and caught the father in the face with a blast of dreamsand.  
The man collapsed, knocking over a chair.  
Pitch and Sandy heard hurried footsteps coming up the stairs: people alerted by the commotion.  
The duo quickly left through the window, Pitch closing it for the sake of the boy's condition inside.

'That's impossible! How did he see you?! Adults never see Guardians!' Sandy asked as they ran along the roof.

'Never mind me! We have to get after the shadows before they escape!' Pitch cried and leapt into the air.

For a moment his form blurred. Shadowy feathers sprouted as Pitch began to transform into a raven. He took flight, hanging over the precipice.  
Suddenly a ripple passed through him and he was human once more. Flightless once more.  
Sandy saw Pitch's mouth open in surprise.  
Then he fell.

Sandy gave a wordless shout of shock and fear as he flew down after Pitch.  
Pitch had fallen straight down through a pile of barrels. Sandy hastily began to dig, throwing bits of wood over his shoulder.  
Pitch was curled up, awake but unmoving. Sandy could see black liquid leaking from his robe and realised he was bleeding.  
Pitch stirred and groaned in pain.  
His staff had broken in the fall.  
Pitch watched as the wood disintegrated in his shaking hand.  
He felt numb.  
There was an ocean of emotion in his heart but it was too overpowering for him to deal with. He felt like screaming but he had no words.  
Save for five.

'I can't fly anymore Sandy'.

Sandy was disturbed to see the golden light in Pitch's widened eyes fade to a washed out grey.  
More alarmingly was the fact that his student's body suddenly seemed less…'real' somehow.  
Like frost on windows under the heat of the sun, Pitch seemed hazy and transparent.  
Sandy laid a hand on Pitch's shoulder. He knew Pitch wouldn't like it but he had to make sure he was still there!  
Helping him to his feet and supporting his damaged body, Sandy guided him past the treeline to escape the shouts from the hospital as the humans searched for the source of the upstairs clamour.  
He watched as ink like essence dripped onto his robe from Pitch's wounds. Once Pitch was safely hidden, he would return and ensure there were no such marks left in the snow for the humans to find.  
Sandy didn't know what was happening with Pitch or the children but he knew he had to find a way to stop it: whatever the cost!

Pitch hated the Sandman's comforting hand on his shoulder. He hated the Man in the Moon for not being there. He hated the remaining splinters of his staff embedded in his palm as he gripped them tightly. And he hated the voices the most as they laughed inside his brain.


	4. Chapter 4

After that night, things only got worse.  
Pitch could not fly, change shape or become one with the shadows anymore.  
He moved slowly and painfully, like an arthritic old man, making him unable to assist Sandy with his duties.  
Sandy was at a loss at how to help him. Tsar Lunar was saying nothing on the matter.  
Pitch tried to stay positive for Sandy but every day he felt weaker. As if there was less of him.  
The only power he still had were the voices.  
They constantly whispered to him now.  
He hated them but he found he desperately wanted to hear them. They were the only proof he was not powerless!  
The sickness was getting worse. There seemed to be nothing anyone could do to stop it.  
And in the depths of desperation, darkness festered unchecked.

Sandy had gone to spread his dreams as usual that night.  
Pitch knew there was no point trying to follow so had settled beneath a large fir tree to wait for Sandy's return.  
He ached all over and his stomach growled. His eyes hurt even from the dim pastel coloured light of the sunset as it dipped below the horizon.  
He didn't know what was wrong with him. His wounds had healed from his fall two weeks before but every joint still felt like crushed glass and his skin felt dry and itchy.

A growing noise cut through his mental catalogue of aches and pains. Slowly, he crawled onto his belly and crept to the edge of the treeline, peering through the dense bushes into a large clearing.  
A large group were gathered around two figures.  
Pitch recognised one as a young mother from the village. The much smaller shape was her daughter. Blind from birth. A sweet child who loved to smell flowers. The only child not yet struck down with illness.  
Her blank eyes were widened in alarm from the angry voices rising around her.  
Pitch knew a mob when he saw it. And knew the promise of violence it brought.

'She cursed our children because she can't see! The spitefulness of the devil lives in her and we must purify it to save our own!' came a loud male voice.  
There was a cry of agreement and the keen sound of the mother sobbing in fright.  
Pitch watched as two men restrained her and another grabbed the child. She reached for her mother's hand, tears streaming down her face.  
The break in the group revealed the plan to Pitch.  
A barrel marked oil. A stack of firewood. Thick, strong ropes. And a long wooden pole.

Pitch couldn't hear the tumult of the group anymore.  
His eyes narrowed and his fingers dug into the dirt so hard they began to bleed.  
They were going to burn a child?!  
A scared, helpless, little child?!  
Pitch roared in anger and burst from the trees, summoning up all the strength he had left.  
He didn't care about being seen or not.  
He didn't care how strong he was or how tired he felt.  
The voices whispered of a form they would all be afraid of. A form they were all familiar with. A form that kept them inside on cold nights when the wind howled through the trees.  
He was a Guardian.  
And Guardians protected children!

The first villager was easy prey.  
Swiping with one gigantic paw, Pitch threw him into the air like a ragdoll. There was a thump as he collided with a tree.  
Pitch's mouth slavered as he eyed the clustered group.  
Some desperately looked around, trying to see what had hit their companion. Some could see a hazy large shape. Others, the truly terrified, stared dumbstruck at the gigantic bear and screamed, baffled at the inaction from the group.  
Its eyes were yellow and fevered in rage, its fur black as a moonless night and its red roaring mouth alight with shining white teeth.  
It roared and the villagers scattered.  
Everyone saw him now.  
Pitch swung around and grabbed another villager with long searching tentacles.  
He could change shape so easily now!  
He threw the struggling man into another three that were running away. As they stumbled and tried to rise, he pushed a nearby tree over for effect.  
The air was intoxicating. He needed more!  
He grew large feathered wings and screeched as he rose on his back legs.

The ringleader of the villagers, the one who had grabbed the little girl, was pelting towards him wielding a large branch as a weapon.  
Pitch recognised him as the man from the hospital.  
Even though he was in bear form, he still managed to smile.  
'Demon!' the man screamed, flailing madly at Pitch with the branch.  
Pitch bit it in half and leapt at him.  
He felt the man's arms break beneath his bulk as he pinned him. The man squealed in pain and hysteria as Pitch leant down.  
'Monster', Pitch growled in response.  
The man's eyes rolled back as he fell unconscious from terror.

Pitch snarled and reared up, bellowing in triumph.  
This was power! He was himself again! Stronger than ever!  
_Stop! They're had enough!_  
The little voice -his voice- screaming inside his head at him was drowned out by the delightful sound of screams and running feet.  
Some villagers were forced to cover their ears at Pitch's roar. Others fell to the ground as they scrambled to get away.

Soon the clearing was empty.  
Save for Pitch as he tried to calm his racing heart, the mother kneeling awestruck and the little blind girl.  
His own voice was clear now as his thoughts drew back from the primal hunger.  
_Change back. You're not an animal. Hide! You can't be seen!  
_Pitch felt himself resuming his human shape and his eyes were drawn to the little girl.  
He walked towards her and knelt, reaching up to touch her face.  
She was safe. That was all that mattered.  
The child smiled and took Pitch's hand, sensing he was no danger to her.  
He looked at it.  
His hand was clawed and bloody.  
He swallowed bile as he noticed the slumped body of the first man beneath a tree. His neck was all wrong and his eyes stared at nothing.  
In that moment Pitch Black found his centre.  
The blind had no reason to fear the dark.  
He turned away, eyes fixed on the treeline but not truly seeing it.  
The mother snapped out of her astounded trance and ran to her daughter. She snatched her up and kissed her, holding her as if she would never let go.  
'Thank you spirit', the mother began.  
Pitch turned and snarled at her, slashing the air with shadowy bladed fingers.  
She cried out and ran, daughter safely in her arms.  
As expected, Pitch felt a warmth spread throughout his body even as his blood turned cold with horror.  
Pitch gritted his teeth in despair, allowing his tears to flow freely now he was alone.  
What had he been thinking?!  
He wasn't a creature of wonder or dreams.  
He was fear.  
He fell to his knees and punched the earth, his fist leaving a cracked indentation. The physical pain was nothing compared to the torture of realization.  
Fear was hated. Fear was distrusted. Fear was dangerous. Fear was fought by everybody who felt it.  
Fear was alone.  
How could he ever be a Guardian with a centre like that?!  
When he looked up at the rising moon, he thought he could hear it laughing at him.  
How could he ever tell Sandy?


	5. Chapter 5

'You were seen?!'

Pitch flinched at Sandy's voice. It was rare to hear him raise his voice to anything above a gentle reprimand.  
When Sandy had returned from his nocturnal duties and witnessed the mess in the clearing, Pitch had immediately begun his explanation of what had happened.  
Pitch was many things but he was no coward.  
Sandy's face had turned a vibrant shade of red that enhanced his golden glow.

'What was I supposed to do?!' Pitch snapped.

'Wait for me! I could've put them to sleep and-'

'Been just in time to watch them burn her alive! Don't worry though, they all think I'm the monster now so no doubt they'll be coming after me instead!' Pitch yelled pointing at the figure beneath the tree.  
Sandy had conjured a golden sheet of dreamsand to cover the corpse while Pitch had been telling his story.  
Noticing the tears threatening to spill over from Pitch's eyes, Sandy took a calming breath and held up a placating hand.  
It had been an accident. Caused by an overwhelming urge to defend an innocent child.  
Sandy honestly didn't know what he would've done in Pitch's place. Could he have resisted the urge to interfere? To a Guardian, the instinct to protect children was irresistible. It made sense that the same urge might be present in prospective candidates.  
'You were right to save the little girl', Sandy said, 'But you lost control. This will only spread more fear'.  
Trying to ignore the twisting, hungry feeling in his stomach at the mention of 'fear', Pitch tried to dismiss the unpleasant truth. Sandy's understanding manner was setting his teeth on edge.  
He knew he had been right!  
There had been no other choice and because he had made that choice (the only sane choice!), a little girl was alive and safe!  
But he had killed someone.  
He had taken a human life and attacked others in a blind frenzy.  
He had become an animal, lashing out at any fleeing prey and gratifying in their terror.  
Then again, maybe they had deserved it.  
Every one of those people had been guilty: they all knew what they going to do.  
They had even tried to superstitiously justify it!  
The animal he had become was simply a reflection of their own dark thoughts and maybe fear of his retaliation would stop them trying anything like that again.  
After all they hadn't dared return for the corpse of their friend.  
Was that his purpose?  
To enforce good behaviour? To demand it rather than just hope that people would do the right thing?  
The more he thought about it, the better he felt.  
So that's what he said.

'It made me feel better'.

Taken aback by the callous remark, Sandy noticed disconcertingly that Pitch's eyes were indeed once again a healthy yellow.  
He was about to continue the debate when he noticed movement in the trees.  
There was no mistaking the empty white glow of a Nightmare Man's eyes.  
The dark trees were full of unblinking pairs of lights gazing down at them.  
They clung to the trees, hanging down like oily ivy or slunk beneath the bushes like crawling centipedes.  
Sandy darted his eyes from Pitch to the edge of the clearing hinting at their presence but Pitch merely cocked his head.

'Don't worry I see them', Pitch said, 'They've been gathering for a while'.

'We will talk about this later', Sandy said, adding his desire for an explanation of how Pitch knew that to the list for discussion in the later conversation.  
Quick as a flash Sandy leapt into the air and struck the closest Nightmare Man with a crack of a golden whip.  
The creature groaned like a falling tree and as if on cue, the entire group fled as a nebulous cloud of black, skirting between trees and fallen trunks to escape.  
Sandy leapt onto the back of a hastily conjured dreamsand manta ray and took flight. He flew high above the trees in order to keep as much of a bead as possible on the retreating creatures.  
Pitch focused and to his relief, felt himself become insubstantial and slip into the welcoming cloak of the shadows. He sped behind Sandy, praying that his temporary power restoration would last until they had dealt with the monsters.

Sandy watched the shapes leave the treeline and begin to slither up a vertical cliff face, long limbs elongating and adapting to cope with the climbing. The area was inhospitable, the rocks weathered and fractured from slides and bad weather.  
As Sandy saw the last black shape reach the pinnacle and disappear from view, he decided there was no longer any doubt about it.  
There was a nest in the area.  
Like ants or bees, there was rarely such a thing as a single Nightmare Man. They congregated in large clumps, splitting off only to find food and just such a nest would be the source of the 'sleeping sickness' causing misery to the townsfolk.  
If he and Pitch could locate the nest, they could end the threat before the Nightmare Men grew bold enough to openly swoop down on the nearby town.  
He hovered at the base of the cliff until a sleek shadow rising from the grass signified Pitch's arrival.

'What is this place?' Pitch asked as he solidified.  
He felt uneasy but immediately intensely curious about the area.  
People had been hurt here.  
Pitch could hear their screams from long ago as they reverberated around the rocks. Another unpleasant side effect of the voices no doubt.  
A feeling of vertigo was creeping over him.  
This place felt so familiar somehow.

'It used to be a quarry until a rockslide made the work too dangerous', Sandy responded.

'What caused it?'

'Probably bad weather', Sandy said, urging his steed upwards.

Pitch hesitated on the ground. He was still aching from the last time he had tried to fly.  
Noticing Pitch's nervousness, Sandy lowered the manta ray back to the ground and waited patiently for Pitch to climb on.  
He climbed aboard with more scrambling than he had intended and silenced the brewing question in Sandy's throat with narrowed eyes.  
Sandy mentally commanded the ray to ascend slowly: both for Pitch's sake and also to allow a plan of attack to form in his mind. It had been a long time since he had fought true Nightmare Men.  
Pitch interrupted his thoughts before he got very far.

'Have I been here before?' he asked.  
The familiar feeling had become maddening. As had the unpleasant silence between he and Sandy.

'Not that I know of', Sandy said evenly.  
Pitch was concerning him greatly. The unpredictable behaviour and erratic outbursts suggested the youth's mind was becoming increasingly disturbed. Not to mention the obvious physical and spiritual weaknesses preying upon both their minds.  
Sandy considered returning to the base of the cliff and commanding Pitch to wait until he returned.  
But what good would it do?  
Pitch was too stubborn and prideful to allow Sandy to face unknown enemies alone, no matter how weak he felt. Sandy did not want him attempting to climb or fly up after him only to miss a step or fall from the sky due to his fluctuating power level.  
No. It was better to bring his charge with him.  
It would be easier to keep an eye on his condition and perhaps a common enemy would dispel or at least ease Pitch's uncertainty and anger.  
If they defeated the Nightmare Men at their source, the small ones inhabiting the sick children would fade away, ending the 'sleeping sickness' once and for all.

Pitch rubbed his eyes wearily.

'My head feels strange. Must be because I haven't flown in a while'.

They reached the summit and leapt from the ray's back. The construct shimmered and dispersed back into glittering sand as they landed, ready to engage the enemy.  
The nest was a large one.  
The adult Nightmare Men stood like pillars around the circumference of a large crater.  
In the centre of the crater, black shapes scrambled over each other. Hundreds of tiny glowing eyes and spider like fingers reached out of the dark mass.  
Infant Nightmare Men.  
The crater led to the edge of the cliff and whatever had created it had caused a jagged split to run all the way down the rock face.  
Sandy recognised the signs of a meteor strike and in the same moment, had an awful realization.  
Something had fallen from the sky and crashed.  
And Pitch knew this place without knowing how.  
Sandy knew what had driven the humans away and caused the rockslide.  
He knew what had landed here.  
Pitch spoke even as he spun to face him.

'I remember now'.

Pitch's eyes were wide as his hidden memories resurfaced. He narrated as he tried to make sense of the rush of imagery.

'I crashed here. I was inside a great black rock. Some men tried to break it open but I wasn't alone. I hurt them because we were hurt. Starving. I went looking for food. You found me and-'

Pitch looked at his own hands and suddenly clenched them in disgust.

'I brought them here', he said, 'It's all my fault'.

Sandy did not know what to say.  
The Nightmare Men also seemed confused. The adults were leaning towards them slightly as if curious but were not attacking. It was startling behaviour: Nightmare Men were not known for their passivity.  
Did they recognise something in Pitch?  
Sandy decided to deal with the task at hand, before the crowd of shadows decided to attack them.  
He began to prepare the old magic to transform the Nightmare Men's negative energy into positive magic. Then they could be assimilated into his dreamsand and spread dreams instead of nightmares.  
The sand swirled around him in a golden miasma as he began to intone the necessary chants. Despite his concentration, he heard Pitch's voice clearly.

'Don't bother'.

Pitch snatched a handful of the dreamsand rotating around Sandy.  
Curling his fingers around the precious grains, he felt it try to flee his grip. It recoiled from his touch like a frightened insect.  
'Not this time!' Pitch thought.  
God, his head hurt!  
He scowled and gritted his teeth as he focused. His pulse was beating in his ears as an incessant drum and his eyesight wavered as if he were underwater as Sandy's magic desperately tried to resist his alien influence.  
The internal voices he dreaded steadily increased in volume until Pitch didn't know if he was shouting the words aloud or just inside his own head.  
_I am your master!  
Obey me!_  
The sand began to buckle, writhing like a snake as it solidified into a black, wicked looking scythe.  
As Pitch raised it above his head, it lengthened, casting a shadow over the whole pit.  
'No mercy for monsters', Pitch intoned, 'Isn't that what Tsar Lunar says?'  
With a vicious downward slice, he struck the crowd of Nightmare Men.  
There was a mass pained sigh as a dozen of the infants disintegrated at the force.

Sandy stood frozen, shocked at the brutality of the act. The swirling sand fell in one great clump to the ground, its potential magic quenched by Sandy's broken concentration.

'I've been practicing', Pitch smiled.  
There was no trace of the wry humour Sandy had come to expect from Pitch in that smile. There was only malice and jagged teeth.  
Pitch leapt into the fray with staggering speed, the scythe whirling like a devilish dervish as it decapitated Nightmare Men. Black ink spattered to the ground as they tried to flee, tying themselves in knots in their blind panic.  
Sandy was horrified by the spectacle.  
They were Nightmare Men: they lived by feeding on the suffering of others. Sandy disliked them but it was their nature. They couldn't help it. That was why he always cleansed them: purified them to serve a selfless purpose. That was the only way to truly defeat them without opening yourself to their darkness.  
What he was seeing disturbed him far more. This was calculated, spiteful savagery.  
This was Pitch as the predator he truly was.  
Sandy cursed himself as he wracked his brains, struggling to process what was happening.  
How had he been so blind?!  
Pitch was a creature of fear, not of dreams or positive energy.  
Just because a wolf could be befriended did not make it any less a wolf!  
But it did not make it any less of a friend.  
Sandy would be damned if he was going to watch Pitch be swallowed by his own dark urges!  
Throwing his hands forward, he conjured two chains that reared up like serpents and gripped Pitch's wrists, locking them in place.  
Pitch gave an odd spasm and stopped his onslaught, gasping heavily. He fell to his knees but lifted his head when he heard Sandy approach him.  
His unnaturally long, grey tongue licked a smear of black sand from his face as the scythe blew away to nothingness on the wind.  
Sandy didn't know whether Pitch had dissolved it or whether devoid of prey, it had simply crumbled to nothing.  
Sandy searched Pitch's stare for anything he recognised whereas Pitch saw the Sandman's face was pale and his eyes were sad.  
Overhead the moon shone down, silent and judging.  
Even as he felt despair threaten to overwhelm him, Pitch bitterly hoped Manny had gotten a good view of the show.  
'Now he knows what you really are', the infernal voices whispered, 'Now he will destroy you'.

'What's the matter Sandy?' Pitch said, unable to stop the emotion trembling in his voice, 'Scared?'  
The last thing he saw as he collapsed was Sandy running forward to help him.

Sandy looked at Pitch's sleeping face.  
It was peaceful, mouth slightly open with his gentle breathing.  
It was not the face of a monster.  
He surveyed the scene around them.  
The black blood droplets of the Nightmare Men were burning beneath the baleful gaze of Tsar Lunar, peeling into the air.  
He had seen the whole thing and was wasting no time in annihilating every trace of the nest's existence lest the remnants were to gather strength again and threaten humans in the future.  
As Sandy saw the telltale blue sparks began to form nearby, he shook Pitch slightly to rouse him.  
Pitch's eyes opened and he stretched, bones creaking from his previous exertions.  
He opened his hand and with a flourish, his old staff appeared, whole and undamaged.

'My powers have fully returned', Pitch commented.

Sandy looked at the sparks as they began to spin, creating a pale blue disk on the ground. A moongate.

'What's happening?' Pitch asked, standing up.

'Tsar Lunar wishes to speak to me', Sandy explained, 'I'm to meet with him at once'.

'About me?' Pitch asked darkly.

'Yes', Sandy said.

'He thinks I'm like them doesn't he?'

'I don't know'.

'But he's right!' Pitch practically screamed, 'Why are you the only one who keeps denying it?! You saw what I was!'

Sandy levitated from the ground sharply and grabbed Pitch's collar. Yellow eyes looked into an identical pair as he pointed at Pitch's chest.

'No matter what you were, no matter what you've done, you are Pitch Black and you are my friend', Sandy declared.  
He released Pitch and walked towards the moongate.  
Before he entered, he turned and looked at his charge.

'I will make him understand', Sandy promised, 'Stay here. I will come back for you'.

'I believe you', Pitch nodded.

When he was certain Sandy had gone, swallowed by the teleporting beam of light that vanished into the darkness, his expression darkened once more.

'I just don't trust him', he growled at the moon above, daring Manny to respond.  
When the usual silence greeted his statement, it was too much to bear.

'You think you have the right to judge me?!' Pitch yelled at the sky, 'All you ever did was give me a name! Why won't you speak to me?! If you hate me that much why not just kill me if I'm no use to you?!'

He knew the accursed Tsar had heard him. According to Sandy, the Tsar kept a large listening trumpet on the moon so as to better hear the wishes of children on earth. If he could hear brats demanding favours from stars, there was no reason he could not hear a supernaturally imbued voice like his.

'Fine', Pitch snarled.  
He sniffed the air until he found what he was looking for.  
A thin scent wafted down from further up the mountain.  
The scent of forgotten tombs and graveyards on winter mornings: the smell of fear.  
He knew he had not destroyed them all. This was not the main nest but an outpost.  
The true enemy lay at the top of the mountain.

Raising his staff towards the moon, Pitch shouted his vow.

'I will prove to you that I am more than I was! I am worthy!'

With that, he began to climb, letting himself be led by the disquieting aroma to the source of his anger and confusion. Destroying the outpost had left his body buzzing with power and he did not notice as he licked his lips in anticipation of what he would find at the summit.

He would defeat the Nightmare Men himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Tsar Lunar's eyes narrowed.  
Using the large telescope that sat in the heart of his lunar observatory, he watched Pitch's dark shape begin to climb the mountain on Earth.  
He had heard everything the insolent boy had shouted at him.  
How dare he make demands?!  
How dare he insult the great gift he had been given?!  
Leaping from the padded chair that served as his viewing platform he gently floated to the ground by holding one of the many multi-coloured balloons that hung in the warm air. Hundreds of them drifted lazily in the observatory, the light from the lamps casting rainbow splashes on the floor.  
Each one had a delicate scroll tied to its string. Each one a wish requiring the Tsar's attention. Each one a good child's trust and belief that he intended to reward.  
But his business tonight did not concern a good child.  
It concerned a creature that, against his better judgment, he had allowed to run free for far too long.  
He wasn't surprised.  
No matter how much you coddled a snake, its first instinct was always to bite.  
He was concerned about Sanderson.  
One of his greatest soldiers and dearest friends, Sanderson had helped him escape to his new home, fought by his side against all odds and swiftly agreed to serve as the first of the new Guardians that the Tsar had selected to watch over the children of his adoptive protectorate planet.  
Another of Sanderson's most appealing traits was that he always believed the best in others.  
Even if there was none to be found.  
The Tsar pulled on a comfortable silk robe as he saw the blue sparks of the moongate begin to form on a nearby circular platform. He sat in a large armchair beside an ornamental fireplace. Settling on the velvet cushions, he waited for Sanderson to emerge from the gate.  
It was time to discuss things face to face.  
It was time to end this experiment before things got worse.

Sandy stepped from the portal, brushing softly glowing blue dust from his robes.  
Travelling by moongate was always instantaneous so it was a mystery how every traveller that used one ended up shedding astral dust that had somehow clung to them en route.  
The observatory had grown since his last visit. He had left the Tsar here as he had begun construction, still grieving from the loss of his homeland to darkness. It had begun as a necessity then evolved into part of what the Tsar had taken to calling the 'Great Project'. The preservation of his culture and the benign ideals his family had held dear.  
As Sandy approached the Tsar in his chair, he bowed. 

Tsar Lunar tutted and shook his head fondly.  
He had repeatedly told Sanderson not to bow.  
There was no point bowing to a monarch without a kingdom.  
Any pride the Tsar had ever had in his title had been lost with his family.  
Besides, he had too much respect for Sanderson to see him bend the knee to anyone.  
'Please old friend', he said, 'No more formalities. Please sit'.  
As Sandy obliged, the Tsar offered him a delicate cheese pastry from a plate on a nearby table.  
Sandy respectfully declined.  
The Tsar took a bite of one and chewed thoughtfully.  
Swallowing he said, 'I can't make them how they're supposed to be. My memory is not that precise. But good company seems to have improved the flavour'.  
'I'm happy to hear that', Sandy said diplomatically, 'It has been too long since we have spoken face to face'.  
'Yes but I won't waste your time with small talk Sanderson', Tsar Lunar said, 'You know why you are here. We have to do something about the boy'. 

Sandy knew there was no point asking what the Tsar meant. He had seen everything. Sandy would not have been summoned otherwise.  
'What do you suggest?' Sandy asked, folding his legs beneath him on the chair.  
'I am interested in your thoughts', Tsar countered, 'Too often you observe when you should speak your mind'.  
'I believe he is suffering greatly', Sandy said, 'He does not know what is wrong with him or how to fix it'.  
'His suffering is of his own doing', Tsar Lunar commented, 'He tries to be something he is not'.  
'What do you think he is my lord?' Sandy asked.  
'I don't want to say what I think he is', the Tsar said, his face turning dark with recollection, 'You recognise his powers as much as I do. But I will tell you what he is not. He is not a Guardian'.  
Sandy's heart sank. Inside he had known that after seeing Pitch's true powers, the Tsar would never make Pitch a Guardian but to hear it delivered so blatantly stung him.  
He understood the Tsar's position. Pitch's powers were not friendly: they were strong, fierce and dominating. They were born of darkness: the same darkness he and the Tsar had been forced to escape. But he refused to believe that was all Pitch was.  
He cared about the boy. He enjoyed their conversations. He admired his strength and intelligence. Without realizing it, Pitch had become more to him than a pupil: he was a little brother. An innocent child who was dealing with a problem that was too big for him and not of his own making.  
'I know', Sandy conceded, 'But perhaps there is another role he could fulfil?'  
The Tsar shook his head.  
'I gave him a chance. You know what he did'.  
A balloon floating beside the Tsar displayed a flash of an image on its surface. A body wrapped in dreamsand beneath a tree.  
Despite himself, Sandy felt a jab of anger.  
'He was trying to protect a little girl! He panicked! It was not his fault!'  
'But he then struck out at her mother as she tried to thank him', the Tsar said.  
'And what did you do?!' Sandy snapped, 'Just watch?!'  
The Tsar's eyes widened as if he had been struck. As Sandy regretted his outburst, the Tsar's look of surprise was replaced by cold eyes and a thin mouth.  
'I wanted to see what he would do'.  
'But the child- ' Sandy protested.  
'Was perfectly safe', the Tsar said, looking into the blazing fire, 'You think I would sit back and allow a child to come to harm?!'  
His eyes flicked to Sandy who could not return the gaze. His cheeks burned with shame at what he had said. Of course the child had been safe. But it did not excuse the lack of help for Pitch or any empathy for the difficult decision he had needed to make.  
'Tell me', the Tsar pressed, eyes returning to the fire, 'How long do you think it will be before your pupil starts seeing them as prey rather than people to be protected? He will betray you'.  
That was the last straw.  
'It is not in his nature to betray anyone!' Sandy snapped, leaping up from his chair.  
At his words, the atmosphere in the observatory seemed to change. Coolness seemed to radiate from the walls and the colours of the balloons faded. It suddenly became clear to Sandy that he and the Tsar were on a desolate ball of rock. The warmth was an illusion: a plaster over a gaping wound in the Tsar's soul.  
The Tsar also rose from his chair but slowly as if carrying a great weight.  
'His first betrayal cost me everything', Tsar Lunar said coolly, 'Is your memory so short?'  
'What are you talking about?' Sandy asked.  
The Tsar pulled one of his balloons down and rubbed the surface. An image began to form within.  
A man in golden armour and a black cape. Pale skin and a thin face crowned with spiky black hair. A lethal spear glinting in his gauntleted hand but kind brown eyes reflecting the starlight above.  
'Do you not see the resemblance?' the Tsar asked.  
Sandy looked at the image closely.  
He knew the man in the image. A renowned general of the Golden Age. Loyal, proud and devoted to his family. Until the nightmare began.  
'It can't be', Sandy breathed.  
'It isn't', the Tsar said flatly, 'But it was once'.  
'How long have you known this?' Sandy asked, mystified.  
As the Tsar spoke, he kept his eyes on the images. They showed great battles, the man leading the charge against shadowy figures then a dank prison, him holding the keys to the many cells where nameless things whispered and tormented him.  
'Since your magic gave him something close to his original shape', the Tsar sighed, 'I had hoped some of the man might have remained. But when I spoke to him, in human form once more, he remembered nothing of Kozmotis Pitchiner'.  
The Tsar dissolved the image of the man throwing open a cell door, his face lined with tears as something black lurking inside rushed out to meet him.  
'But he does remember his loyalty to you even if he doesn't realise it!' Sandy cried, 'All he has done is try to live up to your expectations!'  
'He is not what he was', the Tsar said, his bitterness tempered by sadness, 'His destiny on the path of light is lost forever. I know now that he is too twisted. Too savage. The man has become a monster'.  
Sandy used some of his dreamsand to fling the balloon away without popping it.  
'You say this only because you do not understand his powers!' he snapped, 'He may not be Pitchiner anymore but just because he is dark, it does not make him evil!'  
'He belongs to the darkness now Sanderson: none can resist its power', the Tsar responded, hands clenched determinedly.  
He was becoming irked by Sanderson's refusal to back down.  
Did the shadows have a hold over him too?!  
'He will!' Sandy said, himself annoyed by the Tsar's bullheadedness.  
Did he not see how much good Pitch was capable of?! If anything the revelation that he had once been Pitchiner, the hero of the Lunar Empire, should have reinforced everything Sandy had said from the start!  
The Tsar held up a hand, trying to calm the swelling argument.  
This was not how he had wished his first proper conversation with another person in years to go.  
'I do not doubt your determination. Merely your faith in a creature unworthy of your friendship'.  
'His name is Pitch Black. You gave it to him, so use it!' Sandy shouted, slamming a fist onto the table in pure frustrated rage.  
The Tsar's plate of pastries fell to the floor and shattered, scattering the food across the stone floor.  
There was a ringing silence.  
Sandy knew he had gone too far but knew he could not take it back.  
Tsar Lunar knew he had been dismissive but saw no reason to take it back.  
In that moment, both men realised they had changed but also that maybe they had never known each other as well as they had thought.  
Sandy began to bend his knees to clean up the mess but a stiff hand gesture from the Tsar stopped him. The air of command was practically visible.  
As the Tsar cleaned, he spoke in a strained voice.

'Very well. Stop him if you can and I will overlook his mistakes. I will even make him a Guardian. But, if you do not succeed, you will put an end to this nonsense yourself'.  
'Put an end to it?' Sandy repeated disbelievingly.  
The horror of the statement made him feel as if a creeping cold was slinking up from his stomach.  
'You are the first of my Guardians', the Tsar stated, 'Your task is to protect the children of the world from monsters. Why else would I choose you, my greatest general, to lead the fight against them?'  
'The Guardians are warriors?' Sandy asked.  
The Tsar gave a humourless laugh.  
'Did you think your role would be passive caretakers?' he asked, 'The ones that will join you are not ready yet but all have wills of steel and courageous hearts. You will be my warriors of light against the growing darkness'.

The Tsar threw the broken pieces of crockery into a wastebin and spun swiftly to face the reeling Sandy.

'You will ensure no human child will ever have their family snatched away from them by shadows or see their world burn in a black abyss of mindless hate!' the Tsar commanded, 'And if that means sacrificing Pitch Black, you will do it!'

Sensing Sandy's hesitancy, the Tsar delivered his coup de grace.

'If you don't, I will'.

Sandy remembered the searing moonlight beams that had disintegrated the remains of the defeated Nightmare Men. He thought of Pitch burning, fully awake and aware as the beam turned him to ash. It would not be swift and it would not be clean. But it would be efficient and absolute.  
He wouldn't let it happen!  
It wouldn't happen!  
The Tsar was still hurting over the loss of his homeworld and the grief was blinding him to anything that did not fit into his belief that all so called 'dark powers' were evil by nature.  
Sandy had saved Pitch because he believed otherwise.  
The Tsar had awarded him extra time to prove it.  
Pitch's destiny on the path of light was hidden but not lost: he could still be a Guardian.

'I understand', Sandy said, bowing once more.  
'Then go', the Tsar said, waving a hand.  
The moongate materialized and Sandy stepped through without a word.  
It was only when he was certain Sanderson had left that the Tsar began to weep. 


	7. Chapter 7

Pitch gave a gasp of relief as he finally reached the top of the mountain.  
The climb had been treacherous but now the goal was in sight.  
The top was full of jagged rocks, forming a corona around a large cave opening.  
At the mouth of the cave hovered a creature that would have been invisible to any human eyes against the blackness beyond.  
The shape was vast. Human shaped but immense, topped with a jagged crown of obsidian. At the centre of the shadowy shape was a black orb, a heart darker than the rest of the twisting insubstantial wisps that formed the Nightmare Man. Its eyes were a blank, milky white and they widened as it saw Pitch approach.

'The prodigal son returns', echoed a voice like and unlike his own.  
The powerful magical undertone thrumming through it made Pitch's teeth itch.  
He didn't know whether the creature was trying to confuse him by using a voice similar to his or (and this worried him more) he truly did share some sort of kinship with the creature.

'Sorry to keep you waiting', Pitch said calmly.  
The aura the creature gave off was somehow tantalizing to him. Like the familiar smell of home. However he knew instinctively that any other creature would have felt their courage waver just from being near the intimidating figure.  
The creature began to lurch from the cave, a living shadow against the white chalky stone that surrounded them.

'Do not apologize', it said through an invisible mouth, 'Your return was inevitable. No matter what form you wear, we would know you and welcome you'.

'Then I must apologize after all', Pitch said, his skin crawling at the creature's amiable tone.

'For what?'

'Rejecting your welcome', Pitch said lowly, his staff warping into the black scythe he had used to slay the creature's familiars earlier that night.  
The creature remained impassive.

'Ah. So, you come to kill us?'

Pitch took up a fighting stance, scythe in one hand. He spread the fingers of his other hand wide, ready to tap into his own shadow magic. There was no point holding back here. There was only one creature in range and he very much wanted to hurt it.

'Then my welcome endures little one for you are indeed welcome', the creature bowed mockingly, 'To try'.

Pitch gave a shout and leapt as the creature rose from his bow. His scythe came down in a lethal arc, straight for the creature's head. The head split open a hair's breadth ahead of the scythe sweep until the blade was embedded in the ground. The creature straightened, the two halves of its head blending seamlessly back together.  
Pitch yanked the scythe free but was too late to block the whip like blow that emerged from the mass of the creature. It caught him across the face and he staggered.  
He tasted warm blood in his mouth and he spat the black substance out, licking the nasty gash on his stinging cheek.  
The monster had not moved after the first blow.  
Pitch felt his blood boil as he realized the beast had not attacked because it was amused at him. It had even craned forward slightly, head cocked like an inquisitive bird.

'Who are you?' he asked, readjusting his grip.  
Perhaps distracting it and taking advantage of its lack of interest in the battle was the key.

'The fall damaged your memory more than we thought', the beast said sorrowfully, 'We are the Nightmare King. You are simply put, our servant. A lowly being raised to greatness to help us conquer the stars'.

Pitch flung out a hand. A long shadow spread from his fingers and gripped a boulder lying nearby. A quick gripping motion and they had encircled it like a black squid. Flicking his wrist, the boulder was telekinetically hurled at the creature and impacted on its shadowy hide. He was gratified to see the beast stagger under the weight, tiny white stones trickling down.

'I was an animal when I woke up here', Pitch said, 'A thoughtless, grasping thing!'

'You were whatever we required', the creature responded, shaking its bulk to rid itself of dust, 'We needed a hunter so we changed you into a suitable form to fulfil that function. A function you failed to fulfil we might add. So much so we had to rely on…lowlier servants'.

'The servants I've met', Pitch said, pointing his scythe at the creature, 'I'm asking about you. Who's 'we'?'

'The darkness. The death of stars. The silence in the void'.

'Fearlings', Pitch said dismissively.

'You know us better than any Kozmotis Pitchiner'.

Pitch gave a start. He couldn't help it.  
The creature noticed and finished, 'After all you were once our jailer'.

'That is not my name', Pitch said, his mouth dry.  
He felt as if he were forgetting something vitally important.  
But he had never heard that name before! It sounded similar to 'Pitch' but what else did it have to do with him?  
Another memory he had lost when he crashed on this miserable planet perhaps?

'But you recognise it', the creature insisted, 'Do not lie! We know the fears you have been clinging to in the dark: the fear of yourself, what you could do, what you knew you were made for! The Sandman knows. He knew you. He fears you'.

'Sandy made me', Pitch said quietly.  
Did the Sandman know something about this Kozmotis Pitchiner? Why had he not told him?!

The creature gave a humourless laugh. Pitch's eyes narrowed as he recognised it as his own.

'He ruined you!' the creature espoused, 'Made you doubt yourself! Tried to rob you of your instincts! Even now he plots your doom with Tsar Lunar!'

Pitch glanced up at the moon. Sandy had been gone for most of the night.  
Was he even now begging the Tsar to stay his hand? To delay the sword hanging above Pitch's head?  
Were they watching to see him triumph over this hated adversary? Or waiting to see him fall in battle?

'Now you're the one who's lying', Pitch said with a confidence he did not even slightly feel.  
He began to circle the creature slowly.  
He could deal with Sandy and the Tsar later. This creature had to die. Now.

'At least we do not lie to ourselves', the creature responded, mirroring Pitch's movements, 'You are part of us. Return to us. Know peace. Know certainty'.

'Know oblivion! Know slavery!' Pitch yelled.

He sunk into the shadows and reformed behind the creature. Swinging the scythe in a controlled movement, he slashed a ribbon like tendril off the beast's body. It gasped in pain and slithered away.

'I don't care what I was before, I will never be your slave again!' Pitch declared.

The creature's eyes flicked to its small wound and it gave a heaving sigh. It stood up straighter, its eyes glowing with a growing intensity.

'Then we obviously have no further use for you as a servant. As a meal however…'

It trailed off and attacked.

Now it was Pitch on the back foot once more.  
The creature seemed to be everywhere at once. One moment large and dominating with clubbed fists, the next smooth and sinuous with a multitude of tentacles.  
Pitch tried to match its speed, transforming into one shape after another.  
A bear to push the creature back, a raven to attack from above, a serpent to slither free of grasping claws. He could feel his body straining to keep up with the demands he was putting on it. He had never changed into so many different shapes before. Each time it was harder to become himself again.  
The creature sensing Pitch's inevitable weakening, drew strength from his desperation and niggling doubts. It began to push him to the edge of the precipice.  
Pitch glanced over his shoulder and saw the danger.  
It was all the distraction the creature needed.  
Pitch saw the creature beginning to open at the centre beneath its moonlike eyes.  
Too late he realised it was a mouth, red lined with sharp teeth.  
A spiny tongue, impossibly long, flicked out towards him like an arcing spear.  
Pitch tried to block the blow with his scythe but indecisively decided to throw himself to the side at the same time.  
The tongue caught him in the chest and knocked the wind out of him.  
It also knocked him off the precipice.  
Pitch desperately swung the scythe and succeeded in lodging the blade in the rock.  
He wrenched his arm as he hung there, clutching the scythe shaft with both hands, struggling to scramble back up to solid ground.  
He didn't have enough strength to become a flying creature.  
As the Nightmare Man appeared above him, mouth turned up at the corners in a sadistic smile, Pitch knew it knew that too.  
It leant down and Pitch could see his shadow reflected in the curdled surface of its eyes. He realised there were swirling shapes within, like pondweed floating in stagnant water. He couldn't turn away even as the shapes began to surface and form clear pictures.

'Look into my eyes', the creature whispered sibilantly, 'See your death. Past and present'.

Pitch could see a picture in the creature's eyes: a memory from long ago. It showed a man leading a horde of soldiers as golden armoured as he was. His steed was a white stallion and he raised a glinting spear above his head, the light from the moon above catching on the metal.  
Moonlight steel.  
Pitch instinctively knew the weapon. The man was Kozmotis Pitchiner.  
He saw the resemblance immediately. Pitchiner was older than he was but with the same frame and face. His eyes were hazel and bright as he yelled something to his troops. The sounds were strange. They sounded as if they were underwater. However the response from the soldiers behind him was so enthusiastic, it still made Pitch's ears ring.  
As Pitchiner charged forward, Pitch saw the vast teeming hordes of Fearlings rushing to meet him. Pitchiner cut the first one down, riding through them like a golden spear and the scene changed.  
A woman and a little girl were waving him goodbye. The woman was beautiful, dressed in pale blue silks and the little girl had black curly hair that hung down her back. She shared Pitchiner's hazel eyes but had her mother's delicate skin and clever face.  
She was crying. Her mother was clutching her hand tightly.  
Pitchiner was not looking back at them as he rode slowly away.  
Pitch felt the sadness in his heart keenly and felt tears brewing. Pitchiner knew he would not see them again. He didn't know how he knew. He wasn't prepared to dwell on it when duty called. But he knew.  
He was going somewhere dark and evil. Somewhere the light of sun and moon would never reach. All in the name of the Tsar and his family. He didn't resent Tsar Lunar or the duty. He had defeated the Fearlings. He had smashed the Nightmare King into pieces. His servants needed a jailer and that was destined to be his lonely duty. He was not a proud man but he knew he was the only one who could do it. The Tsar and Sanderson had told him as much. He just wished the parting didn't hurt so much.  
The next scenes were a monotonous blur of Pitchiner wandering dark halls, golden keys at his waist. As the terrible dance of the hours continued, Pitch felt an emotional resonance with the lonely figure walking the same route day after day. The emotions came in a flood: loneliness, frustration, anger, sadness and finally a growing hatred. Hatred for the Fearlings. Hatred of the prison. Hatred of himself for feeling the Fearling's influence. They tormented him, wrecking his dreams of home and promising empty lies. The darkness was slowly poisoning Pitchiner, breaking his heart and mind. And the Fearlings were loving every minute of it.  
Pitch could feel the tears flowing freely now.  
The Fearlings were content to be locked up. Pitchiner was the true prisoner: hunted and haunted by the choice he made to leave his family. He didn't care about the Fearlings anymore. He didn't care about the Tsar's crusade. He just wanted to go home!  
Then the images slowed to show Pitchiner standing outside one of the cells. He was pounding on the wall beside the grated door, screaming something at the shadowy inhabitants within. His knuckles ached and bled at the impact.  
Pitch was screaming too. To him it seemed as if he was right beside Pitchiner, trying to stop whatever insane decision the commander had made as he saw him fumbling with the keys to the door. But this was the past and Pitch was powerless as the door was flung open.  
The worst part was Pitchiner's face. He was smiling radiantly and held up his arms as the darkness engulfed him. His lips moved and this time Pitch heard the word loud and clear.  
_Serafina._  
As the memory faded, Pitch could hear the creature's laughter and the spell was broken.  
The scythe was slowly slipping from the cliff face but it no longer mattered.  
The creature's claws were fastened around his torso and it was lifting his limp body up.  
Pitch felt the scythe fall from his numb fingers and clatter on the ground below as the creature raised him to its eye level.

'What point is there in resisting?' it asked, 'When you are already damned?'

It was too much for Pitch to bear.  
He had been Kozmotis Pitchiner. He had been a hero. And this creature and its kind had destroyed him. They had murdered him!

'NO!' he shrieked and slashed at the creature's face with his own shadowy claws and a returning shriek was his reward.  
The creature's right eye exploded in an oily mess and it flailed in pain, dropping Pitch.  
He landed awkwardly on his left ankle and was forced to roll away from the writhing creature towards his dropped scythe.  
Feeling numb and wracked by revelations, he managed to lift himself to one knee, leaning on his scythe for support.  
The creature snarled as the tear in its flesh began to reknit. The eye socket remained blank.  
It was cautious now, coiling in on itself like a gigantic serpent that had just been bitten by a surprisingly savage rat.

'We will not offer you this chance again!' it said, 'Abandon that pathetic human shape and join us once more! Act as our agent and deliver to us the fear of children!'

'I am not your agent!' Pitch snapped, 'I was a hero!'

'You were weak!'

Pitch raised himself to his feet, using the scythe as support for his damaged ankle. He brushed the dirt from his face and gritted his teeth.

'I am not afraid of you'.

The creature smiled again.

'Good. A fearless foe is much more satisfying. When we devoured you the first time your pain was exquisite to taste. As was your family's'.

'My family', Pitch gasped, the pain in his chest pulsing once more.  
That was right. Serafina had been Pitchiner's, no, his daughter. Little rebellious Serafina. Serafina who always watched for him coming home. Who wanted to be a pirate instead of the lunar lady her mother wanted.

'Your little girl screamed in her mother's arms when we came for them', the beast thundered triumphantly, 'It was like music!'

'No! I protected them!' Pitch yelled.

The creature sank to its belly and began to crawl closer, luxuriating in his pain.

'You abandoned them. With such little resistance. You were not our first choice of host but you did prove an easy target to snare. So determined to do the right thing it blinded you to anything else. Where were you when they needed you?! Guarding the Tsar's many enemies! He did nothing! Sanderson did nothing! They just stood back and let you fall. All alone with nobody to hear you scream. Except us. There's no going back. Kozmotis Pitchiner, hero of the Golden age is dead, just like his pretty little girl!'

Pitch roared in rage and attacked, rejuvenated through sheer blind fury.  
The pain in his ankle didn't matter. His exhaustion didn't matter. He was not Kozmotis Pitchiner. This creature would not break him again!  
After all he had nothing left to lose!  
That thought made him laugh hysterically.  
The creature's eyes widened as it narrowly blocked a lethal swing from the pendulous scythe. The clang reverberated up its shadowy arm. It didn't have a chance to consider the possibility it had made a mistake in enraging Pitch however.  
The boy was attacking like a thing possessed and his face was changing to match. His hair writhed like black tentacles and when he snarled in the creature's face, he spat black liquid from serrated teeth.

'I am not Kozmotis!' he yelled, punctuating each sentence with an intense strike, 'I am not weak! I am not your puppet! And I am not afraid of you!'

One final powerful strike rent the creature in half and the ground beneath it asunder. The creature fell limply, bleeding blackness from the numerous injuries it had sustained.  
Pitch was breathing heavily as he stamped on the creature's chest, the black gem splintering at the force.  
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the creature's eyes and stopped dead.  
This was no hero.  
It was a monster's face.  
Like a breath from a dying man, Pitch felt his strength fade. This wasn't what Sandy would want.  
But the Tsar would want the creature destroyed whatever the cost. The killer's sanity or feelings didn't matter to him. They had never mattered.  
His head pounded from the confusion. He had come here to kill this thing.  
But they were the same.  
The memories could've been a trick but Pitch discounted that idea.  
Why lie when the truth hurt so much more?

'Ha!' the creature laughed through its red mouth, 'Now you see boy. Now you understand. There's no way back. You're a monster. Just like us'.

'Sandy-' Pitch began.

'Has abandoned you!' the creature interrupted, 'We have not. All we want is to be whole again'.

'I'm so tired of fighting', Pitch sighed, 'It's like fighting-'

He trailed off and his eyes widened as he realised what he had been about to say. The creature finished his sentiment for him.

'Yourself?'

Pitch nodded reluctantly, head swimming.  
He wished Sandy was there with him.  
But hadn't Sandy played as much of a part as the Tsar and this stinking creature in condemning him all those years ago?

'Then stop fighting us', the creature entreated, 'Accept us and accept the truth'.

'I don't even know what the truth is anymore', Pitch said, close to laughing and crying both at once.  
He just felt so tired.  
So drained.

'Just look at yourself. You can never be a Guardian now'.

Pitch felt as if he was staring over the precipice again.  
The creature was right.  
He couldn't fly anymore. He wasn't the angel that Sandy or the Tsar wanted.  
Then again, what did he want?  
He didn't want to serve the Tsar anymore. He didn't want Sandy to either.  
The man was just as much of a tyrant as the Nightmare Men. He sacrificed people like chess pawns!  
What did he want?  
The villagers to be safe. But they had tried to kill a little girl! They didn't deserve to be saved. They needed to be taught a lesson.  
The Tsar needed to be taught a lesson.  
That an abused dog won't be loyal forever.  
He could feel the creature beneath him beginning to rise, taking advantage of his distraction.  
If they all wanted a monster, Pitch would give them one.  
The very monster the Tsar and the Fearlings had created in that dank prison all those decades ago with their selfish desires to control him.  
He would make sure no human would ever dare to stand against him again.  
Pitch looked into the abyss and saw destiny looking back at him.  
So he stopped fighting and leapt.

Pitch stomped down harder on the creature's bulk.  
The creature cried out in pain and Pitch's long fingers suddenly fastened on the gem in its centre. With impossible strength, the boy began to wrench it free.

'What are you doing?!' the Nightmare Man yelled, unable to keep the pain and fear from its voice.

Pitch looked at the beast and the beast flinched. There was no weakness in those eyes: no humanity. Only the dead eyed resolution of the dying man. The look of a soldier who is prepared to give his last for survival.

'I have had enough of people saying what I should be', Pitch said calmly, 'If my past is dead and the future I wanted is impossible, I choose what I should be now. Not you. Not Sandy. Not Tsar Lunar'.

The gem came loose. The creature shrieked as it felt its essence fading.  
Pitch was holding the gem lightly, examining the fractals in the moonlight with polite interest.  
The creature was deflating at his feet like a ruptured wineskin.

'Stop! We are your masters! We own you!' it frantically cried, pawing at his boots.

Pitch stamped on the fingers, crushing them into nothing.  
The Nightmare Man could no longer grow any new ones.

'If I cannot be a Guardian, I can be a king', Pitch smirked as he began to feel the creature's fear.  
It was every bit as intoxicating as it had promised to be.  
His head began to swim pleasantly like a man who has taken too much drink.

'Please stop!'

Pitch laughed at the creature's alteration in tactics and knelt down to the creature's drooping head. Its mouth appeared to be comedically sliding off its slippery skin like oil running into a sewer grate.  
Pitch stuck a finger in it and giggled as some red came off on his finger like red paint.

'Beg me', he demanded.  
He felt invincible!

'We beg you!' the creature whined.

'Offer me everything!' Pitch commanded, yanking the creature's dwindling mass upright to face him and casting the gem aside.

'We do! We do!' the creature shrieked as it split in half. Its obsidian crown fell to the ground and shattered.

'Give me all the power I want!' Pitch snarled, his eyes burning brightly with the power he was absorbing.

'It's yours!' the creature flinched as Pitch leant in close and gave it a gentle stroke with a long finger.  
It didn't want to die! It was afraid!

'Yes. It is', Pitch whispered and tipping his head back, swallowed the creature whole.  
It slithered as it went down but almost immediately, Pitch felt a growing warmth in his stomach.  
What Sandy said was true then. Conquering your fear did make you stronger.  
The power spread throughout his body and he felt himself growing.  
Yes, time to grow up. Time to leave the child behind.  
His robe became more voluminous to accommodate his increased height and it trailed behind him like a folded peacock tail as he walked to the obsidian crown. Picking it up, he stroked the smooth surface and smiled as the jagged peak cut his finger. He placed it on his head and it settled into place. The rightful place.  
The discarded scythe he summoned back to his hand with a thought. He decided against turning it back to the plain wooden staff.  
A shepherd's crook was unfitting for a king. He was a predator, not a mewling protector of lifestock!  
A scythe was far more symbolically suitable for a harvester of fear.  
There was one more thing left.  
A king needed a mount.  
He whistled and from out of the depths of the cave came a black horse.  
Its eyes were glowing red as it snorted, the white smoke vanishing in the night air as he swung up onto its back. He sat for a moment, full of pride and power.  
Yes. This was a suitable shadowy reflection of what he had been.  
A private joke for the Tsar to enjoy.

Speaking of which.

Pitch looked up at the moon above.

'Did you enjoy the show Manny?' he asked, his youthful voice replaced by a commanding tone that echoed around the cliff, 'I'm just getting warmed up'.


	8. Chapter 8

Sandy rematerialized in the forest where he had left Pitch who was nowhere to be seen.  
Casting his magical senses afield, Sandy located him quickly.  
To his dismay, Pitch seemed to be right in the middle of the human village and judging from the negative energy emanating from that direction was no longer bothering to hide himself.  
Pitch's energy also felt different: it was usually soft and pliant but this felt like thunderclouds before a storm. It was charged, lethal and dangerous.  
Sandy soared over the trees, not bothering to conjure a dreamsand mount, praying Pitch had not done anything rash.  
He was to be disappointed.

As he crested the trees, he could see the small town lit by numerous lanterns.  
A large crowd had assembled in the town square.  
They formed a circle around the gallows in the centre.  
Sandy drew closer and saw Pitch stood on the town gallows.  
Sandy wasn't sure because of the distance but Pitch seemed taller than when Sandy had left him.  
He held a wicked looking scythe as he surveyed the crowd.  
They were silent, faces white and frightened. The town's sick children, now recovered, were amongst the crowd, still in nightclothes, clinging to their parents.

'Pitch!' Sandy shouted, swooping down from above.

Pitch turned his head to the sky and Sandy slowed his pace at the look in the younger spirit's eyes.  
His own eyes were drawn to the lethal looking black scythe Pitch was now twirling carelessly in one hand.  
Pitch's gaze followed Sandy's descent until he landed between Pitch and the crowd.

'Sandy', Pitch greeted magnanimously as Sandy landed, 'Feel like joining my game? Or are you just here to watch like always?'

As Sandy cautiously approached, he realised hundreds of eyes were on him. The confusion must have registered in his face because Pitch's smirk widened.

'Wondering how they can see you? Turns out fear causes people to believe in the most outlandish things'.

Pitch stepped down from the gallows, his feet silent, even on the harsh gravel.

'I've told them all about our little attempted rescue'.

Pitch suddenly grabbed a nearby child by the wrist and dragged him from the group. The child cried out at the feeling of the cold, deathlike grip.  
Sandy's hands balled into fists.

'Unfortunately they don't seem all that grateful', Pitch said, dragging the child behind him, 'When I first arrived, there was quite a bit of screaming. Nice and quiet now isn't it?'

'Let the boy go', Sandy said quietly.

'I will. If his father will come get him'.

The crowd parted at Pitch's pointed finger. Sandy had seen the man before. He had attacked Pitch at the hospital. Both his muscular arms hung limply in slings.  
Pitch turned to haughtily regard the man.

'Do you remember me dog? Do you?!'

'Yes', came the mumbled response.

'Yes what?!'

'Yes my lord!' the man cried, trying to kneel without using his hands.  
The crowd followed suit, finding it much easier to demonstrate their subservience.

'Come. Collect your son', Pitch said with mocking benevolence, 'Why do you hesitate? Are you nervous?'

'Why are you doing this?!' Sandy shouted.

'Because this wretch led the rest of these fools in the attempt to burn a little girl to death!' Pitch snarled.

Sandy noticed there was an audible collective gasp from the crowd. Obviously that little venture had not been made public.  
The boy gave a whimper and Pitch gave him a shake.

'Yes boy, weep!' he snapped before glowering at the assembly, 'You call me monster?! Hypocrites! Cringe like the worms you are!'

'Stop', said Sandy.

'No', Pitch responded.

Sandy bowed his head. Had it really come to this?

'Please stop'.

The sound of a low laugh from Pitch made him raise his head.

'Oh this is priceless! Is this your newest tactic Sandy? Asking nicely? What's next? A tickling match?'

Pitch didn't even see the whip before it struck him.  
It scratched his cheek and knocked the crown from his head. The ornament rolled and came to a stop in the mud as Pitch touched the fresh wound on his cheek with a finger.  
At first shocked by the speed of the strike, Pitch began to laugh, genuinely amused that he had taunted Sandy enough into letting his passive mask slip.

'So you are a soldier after all!' he hissed savagely through his smile.

Sandy's face was stony as he coiled the golden, dreamsand whip around his arm.

'I will not ask again', Sandy said, 'You want a fight? Fine. But we go elsewhere'.

'Very well', Pitch conceded with a stately nod of the head.

He let the boy go. The child landed and ran, terrified to his mother. Pitch smirked when he saw the boy cringe from his father's approach.

'Don't go anywhere', Pitch said, tilting his head to the amassed crowd, 'This won't take long'.

Sandy raised both arms and the dreamsand did its work. The entire crowd fell asleep as one, slumping down gently into a huge gently breathing mass. Sandy wove a spell of forgetfulness into the grains. Hopefully no person would remember him or Pitch.  
Pitch knew what sandy was doing and rolled his eyes as he rose into the sky.

'So you can fly again', Sandy commented as he finished the spell.

'Don't sound so pleased', Pitch said sarcastically.

Sandy rose up to join Pitch.

'You don't look like yourself', Sandy said, eyeing Pitch critically.

'Who else would I look like Sandy?' Pitch laughed, 'I'm myself again. Pitch Black: the Nightmare King reborn!'

'A crown doesn't make you a king'.

Pitch's laughter faded and he bared his teeth at Sandy's unimpressed tone.

'No. The power to do whatever I want does that'.

'And what do you want?' Sandy asked evenly.

'To tear the moon from the sky!' Pitch snarled, miming snatching the celestial object down with his hand.

'I can't allow that Pitch'.

'Allow?' Pitch repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

He was on Sandy before he could dodge and cracked him across the face with a back handed slap. Sandy tumbled backwards with the force of it but righted himself.

'Allow?!' Pitch growled again as he began to advance.

As he flew past a set of trees, he swung the scythe in a wide arc. The tree tops crashed to the ground at its touch.  
Sandy conjured his dreamsand whips.  
He cracked one just in front of Pitch's face and Pitch flinched back.

'You pathetic little man!' Pitch snarled, 'You still think you can best me?'

'This isn't you Pitch'.

'Well you would know wouldn't you Captain Sanderson?!' Pitch roared as he descended like a comet.  
Sandy flew upwards and tried to ensnare Pitch's ankle as he flew by.  
Pitch swung the scythe and cut the golden chord before Sandy could pull it tight.  
Throwing out a hand, shadowy blades flew from Pitch's fingers.  
Sandy ducked behind a tree and they embedded harmlessly in the thick trunk.

'You remember?' Sandy called, trying to catch a glimpse of Pitch's position from behind his impromptu bulwark.

'So you knew all along', Pitch's voice sneered, seeming to echo throughout the forest.  
Sandy recognised it as a common shadow tactic.  
The key was not to go looking but to stay still and wait for the voice's owner to show themselves.

'No! The Tsar told me', Sandy yelled truthfully.

'So you didn't even recognise me?!'

The voice was above him!  
Sandy barely had time to leap from the branch before the tree was cut clean in half.  
He landed on the dirt as the two separate halves of the tree fell with thunderous crashes. Pitch wrenched his scythe free of the bark and stepped clear of the dust.

'Some friend!' he scoffed and flew at Sandy again.

Sandy waited until Pitch was nearly in range then side stepped and tripped him.  
Pitch fell to the ground, too much speed in his approach to avoid it and Sandy stood over him, whip raised and ready to fall.

'We can still be friends!' Sandy snapped, 'But you need to stop this madness! Pitchiner is dead and you are-'

Sandy felt something clasp his leg.  
Looking down he saw it was a sinuous shadow extending from the bottom of Pitch's robe.  
Next thing he knew he was flying through the air.  
He collided with another tree trunk and felt the air knocked from his lungs.  
The shadow coiled around his ankle disintegrated and Sandy rose back to his feet.  
He winced at the pain in his back.

'Stop telling me who I am!' Pitch was yelling as he approached, 'I'm not this! I wasn't that! You wanted me to be a hero! And look how it's turned out!'

Pitch swung the scythe again above Sandy's head.  
Sandy threw himself into a forward roll to avoid the tree top careening down from above.  
He leapt from his crouching position and transformed one of the whips into a golden sword.  
It clashed against the shaft of Pitch's scythe as the two traded blows, the black and gold sparks dancing like fireflies.  
Spotting an opening, Sandy lunged for Pitch's centre, forcing him to fly up out of the way.

'Are you proud Sandy?' Pitch hissed down at him, 'Am I everything you wanted? Everything you dreamed?'

Sandy stood his ground, sword in a low guard.

'You have come so far Pitch!' he yelled up at his former pupil, 'You want to be a Guardian remember?!'

Sandy saw Pitch give a start at his words as he floated there.  
Then his face grew dark and Sandy knew he had lost him again.

'That's not the only thing I remember. I remember a prison. Agony. Torture', Pitch stated.

Swinging his scythe in a curving arc, bolts of sharpened shadow rained down from above. Smashing the sword and whip together, Sandy just managed to form a shield. The bolts burst upon impact and Sandy grunted at the needle like sensation.

'You weren't there! It wasn't like that!' he yelled above the cracking noise of the bolts impacting.

As the black dust cleared, Sandy leapt back as Pitch landed, scythe crashing into the ground and splitting it.  
Pitch leant on it and Sandy backed away, wary of another surprise attack.

'Then why do I remember you saying nothing could be done?!' Pitch demanded, a tinge of desperation colouring his voice, 'Where were you when they came for Pitchiner's family?!'

Sandy's mouth opened as he tried to answer but hesitated.  
Unfortunately this refuelled Pitch's anger and he began to advance once more, eyes glowing and his voice oddly distorted as if many different Pitchs were speaking at once.

'Where were you when we crawled into his mind and ate every good feeling he ever had?! Where were you?! Answer me!'

Sandy ducked a blow from the scythe and grabbed it's shaft as the blade went past. He wrapped a coil of dreamsand around it and yanked it out of Pitch's hands. Pitch stumbled and saw it clatter some distance away. He turned to Sandy, sharp teeth bared and claws growing from his fingers.

'Talking to your wife', Sandy said quietly.

He saw Pitch stop but knew better than to assume he had gotten through.  
He was right.

'His wife remember?! Not mine!' Pitch snarled, swiping at Sandy's head.

One claw caught Sandy's sleeve and tore it to ribbons. Sandy spun and punched Pitch in the face.  
Pitch spat a globule of black spit onto the ground and growled.

'What words of comfort did you give her?!'

Pitch began a flurry of wild swipes from his new claws. Tt took all of Sandy's concentration just to dodge them.

'Did you tell her he thought about her every day?' Pitch demanded, 'That he would've burnt that god forsaken prison down if it meant he could be with her again?'

Sandy stumbled on a tree root and Pitch grabbed him by the throat, his fingers locking around Sandy's neck. Sandy felt pressure building behind his eyes as he kicked at Pitch's chest.

'No', Sandy grunted.

'Of course not', Pitch leered triumphantly, 'You had no idea what he was going through!'

Sandy felt a burst of anger and punched Pitch in the face again. This time a tooth cracked and the pain made Pitch let Sandy go.  
Sandy conjured a dreamsand whip and caught both of Pitch's wrists. He yanked him down to his level.  
Golden eyes glared into their mirror likeness.

'But I saw what she was going through', Sandy said angrily, 'I told her to have faith. That you hadn't forgotten them. That you wanted to come home but that your duty-'

'His duty killed him', Pitch hissed and yanked on the whips.  
Sandy was pulled down and shrieked as he felt Pitch's teeth pierce his shoulder.  
Pain blossomed in him as he felt the cold touch of the shadows mingling with his own warm magic.  
It felt like poison.  
Pitch flung him away like a dog throwing a toy.  
Sandy spun along the ground, body aching as his magic tried to fight off the malign influence in the bite.  
He felt dizzy and sick.

Pitch loomed over him, a shadow against the moon. He snapped the cord around his wrists.

'It's a bad mistake' he said, 'Doing your duty'.

Sandy noticed the pause and said, 'You won't kill me'.

'I've already killed. If you can't erase it, what does it matter if a black mark gets bigger?'

Sandy glared up at Pitch.

'Then stop wasting time by talking!' he snapped defiantly, 'If you're going to kill me, do it now and do it honestly!'

Pitch was not smiling as he opened a hand. His scythe flew back to his grip and Pitch, using both hands, raised it above his head.

'Any regrets?' he asked.

Sandy thought for a moment and answered honestly.

'Just that I couldn't help you'.

There was another silence.  
Then Pitch started to laugh: a hideous, high pitched, hysterical laugh.  
He passed a hand over his face as he lowered the scythe so it hung limply in one hand.  
His shoulders sagged and Sandy was surprised to see him wipe what looked suspiciously like a grey tinged tear from his eye.

'You couldn't have helped me Sandy', Pitch said quietly, 'How could you? When I was set up to fail from the start'.

'That's not true', Sandy said, starting to lever himself up from the ground.  
The wind blew cold, the two of them silhouetted against the moon.  
Pitch sighed heavily.

'Was Manny ever planning to give me the chance to be a Guardian?' he asked.

Sandy couldn't meet his eyes.

'But you believed didn't you?' Pitch asked, smiling wistfully to himself.

'Yes', Sandy sighed.

'Then you are a fool', Pitch said, smile strangely sad.

Sandy gasped as a clutch of shadows suddenly emerged from the grass beneath him and bound him.  
As he struggled, he watched Pitch raise a hand above his head.  
A shadowy orb materialized in his palm before stretching into a vicious looking spear.  
Pitch took aim and Sandy gave a wordless shout as he realised what Pitch was aiming at. He renewed his efforts to break free of the shadowy bonds and was rewarded by feeling them begin to snap.  
Giving an inhuman roar, Pitch flung the spear directly at the moon.

In his observatory, the Tsar's eyes narrowed as he watched his defence grid destroy the spear.  
Such an idiotic creature. He must have known that spear stood no chance of reaching him.  
It hadn't even gotten close but the intent behind the attack could not be ignored.  
His eyes were drawn to the round grey steel button set into a plinth on his observation platform. Its surface gleamed with cold lethality.  
Tsar Lunar's jaw set and he pressed it.  
Sanderson had had his chance.

Pitch roared in thwarted anger as he felt his spear disintegrate.  
He swung his scythe so hard it became embedded in the ground.  
Again?! How many times must he fail?!  
Pitch pulled at his hair and snarled as shadowy tentacles burst from the ground around him, his powers reflecting his rapidly slipping grip on his rage.  
Everything was wrong! He was strong now! Stronger than he had ever been! Stronger than the Tsar!  
He was the Nightmare King!  
Pitch felt something touch his robe and but he wheeled, swiping at it with long talons.  
Why couldn't he do anything right?!

Sandy felt a gentle breeze upon his throat.  
Then searing pain like a hot iron being dragged slowly along his neck.  
He gasped and choked as he fell forwards.  
He looked up and saw Pitch's yellow eyes wide and wild in shock.  
Pitch seemed torn by Sandy sinking to his knees as his hand spasmed as if to reach out to him before being drawn back as a clenched fist.  
Pitch pounded the sides of his head with both fists and his chest heaved with his ragged breathing.  
He felt his vision blur as he saw the crumpled golden shape stir. The small hand was raised again.  
The fingers moved slowly as if trying to grasp some delicate object.

'Stop it! Stop trying to reach for me!' Pitch screamed frantically.

As Pitch stepped back, he felt an odd sensation.  
Looking at his feet, he saw a pale blue circle enscribed with silver and gold runes.  
The light was growing.  
Casting his eyes to the sky, he saw the moon glowing with the same light.  
He felt a prickling sensation on his skin and realised he was sweating.  
The heat was growing.  
He tried to step outside and found himself blocked by an invisible shield.  
He tried to phase through but his essence burnt within the light, forcing him back into a solid shape.  
Pitch roared but every shadow that threatened to form withered in the light.  
He desperately looked around for a solution.  
And saw only Sandy, red creeping from beneath his prone body. Glittering specks showed his powers trying to mend the damage Pitch had caused.  
No help. No solution. No hope.  
'No mercy for monsters', Pitch whispered.  
He gave a compulsive laugh that turned to a hoarse cough as the moisture evaporated from his throat. He saw the trailing ends of his robe beginning to disintegrate, floating like dead leaves caught in a wind.  
All was ashes.  
Fitting.  
Pitch closed his eyes.  
Only to feel a pair of strong hands clench on his shoulders.  
He opened his eyes and saw Sandy standing in front of him, his blood staining the circle beneath them.

'Let go of me!' Pitch screamed, 'He'll kill us both!'  
He tried to push Sandy off but his limbs felt numb, the light weighing them down somehow. The better to hold its target in place.  
Sandy clung on tighter, feeling warm liquid dribbling down the front of his golden robes.  
He would die before he failed anyone ever again!  
He heard Pitch begin to howl as the heat increased and he felt his own clothes begin to burn albeit at a slower rate.  
The pain felt far away.

The Tsar leapt from his telescope platform in alarm. He grabbed his walking stick from its usual place beside the fire. Made of starlight steel, it was as hard as diamond.  
He pelted down the corridor to the room containing the moongate machine.  
It was not just a mode of transportation. It was also a weapon.  
Throwing open the door to the room, the Tsar ran towards the gigantic machine.  
A merciless contraption of magic and metal, its secondary purpose once activated was to eradicate shadows. Once turned on, it could not be turned off until its function had been completed. No matter what other kind of creature put themselves in the way.  
The Tsar spared a rueful glance at the walking stick.  
It had belonged to his father.  
Now it would save his friend.  
Gritting his teeth, the Tsar stuck it into the external cogs of the machine like a sword.  
The gears sparked and angry smoke billowed from the vents as the machine struggled to fulfil its function.  
The Tsar had barely enough time to slam the door behind him before the machine imploded.

Sandy felt the sudden rush of cool air upon his face as the heat suddenly vanished as if in a vacuum. The sensation was akin to freezing and he shuddered in pain. He felt himself thrown hard onto the ground, his whole body a patchwork of aches and agonies. He was finding it hard to breathe and he rolled onto his side to ease the aching in his throat. He felt stickiness beneath his cheek.  
He sensed someone approach.  
Pitch was standing above him.  
His tattered robe billowed in the cold gusts of wind and his face was covered in ashen burns that wept black fluid.  
One eye was pure white, the colour burnt from its surface and the other wept the same oily fluid that was staining his cheeks.  
The single eye blazed bright gold in anger as sweeping down on Sandy, Pitch grabbed his collar and lifted his head from the ground.  
Sandy choked and felt something bubble past his lips.  
'Why?' Pitch hissed.  
It almost made Sandy laugh but he knew it would probably be the end of him.  
Why what? Why save him? Why had he failed Pitch when he needed him most? Why had the Tsar stopped the attack?  
There were so many 'whys'.  
So Sandy just smiled. It was getting hard to concentrate. The pain was fading as he felt himself losing consciousness.  
He lightly tapped Pitch's chest with his pointer finger.  
'I believe' he croaked and closed his eyes.  
As awareness began to slip away, he thought he heard Pitch's words echo in the fading light.  
'You will regret saving my life'.

The Tsar sat beside the bed, a candle burning in his hand. The room was otherwise unlit save for a pale blue light coming from a large porthole to the left of the bed. Sandy moved his head slightly and saw it was Earth, shining in the distance.  
He had made Sanderson as comfortable as he could.  
The small man rested beneath a large blanket, head slightly elevated to allow for the wound in his throat. This had been stitched and bandaged. The various burns and scrapes Sanderson had accumulated were now clean and covered with lunar salve to help them heal.  
It had taken all of Tsar Lunar's skill to close the gash in Sanderson's throat. If the dreamsand had not done its work Sanderson would have bled out on Earth. The Tsar had extracted the grains of shadows that had been keeping the wound open and shot them into space to a cold fate.  
Sanderson stirred and the Tsar breathed a sigh of relief.  
He had received brilliant tutoring in the field of healing but it always worried him until he saw a patient wake up.

Sandy opened his eyes. They felt hot and irritated despite the shadowy room.  
Noticing the Tsar beside him, he realised where he was.

'I used a moongate to bring you here', the Tsar explained, pre-empting Sandy's question, 'It took much of my remaining power. Hence the candle. The creature fled when he saw it materialize around you'.

Sandy tried to speak but felt a lancing pain across his throat. Reaching up gingerly, he felt thick bandages beneath his chin. His neck was wrapped in them.  
He tasted blood in the back of his throat.  
The Tsar was looking at him with a stern face and sorrow in his eyes.

'Your throat has been damaged', Tsar Lunar explained gently, 'I am sorry my friend. The loss of your voice is a tragedy to us both'.

Sandy took his hand away from his throat.  
He felt numb, Shock would come later he knew. He was grateful to remain clear headed. He suspected Tsar Lunar had given him a sedative of some sort.

The Tsar clasped his hands together and said, 'I have made my decision'.

Sandy looked at him, trying to read his face.  
There was no way the Tsar would forgive Pitch now.  
But then, where was Pitch?  
Destroyed?  
Imprisoned?

'The beast can have Earth', Tsar Lunar stated.

Sandy's eyes widened and the Tsar raised a hand as a reminder to Sandy not to try and speak.

'You think me mad?' the Tsar laughed humourlessly, standing and looking to the window.

Sandy could not stop himself from nodding, despite the pain in the gesture.

'Do not worry my friend. I never said he could keep it', the Tsar said.

He crossed his arms behind his back.

'Humans are stronger than he thinks. For the present, they can endure any cheap horrors he can throw at them. Let him have his 'dark age'. In the meantime we will continue the plan. When things are at their darkest, mankind will turn to any saviours, even those they would never normally believe in: fairies, forest spirits or a man with magic sand'.

Sandy lowered his eyes as the Tsar extended a hand towards him.  
It was starting to make sense now.

'To the people of Earth my Guardians will seem a gift from heaven', Tsar Lunar declared, arms raised skyward, 'To escape from their fear, mankind will flock to your wonder and light in the hundreds'.

His moon like face darkened.

'And that creature will be driven into the shadows, not destroyed but allowed to exist on whatever scraps of belief he can scrape together. Living proof that darkness, that evil, can never win. Poetic, don't you think?'

Sandy did not answer. He stared at the blanket.

The Tsar did not press for an answer. He touched Sandy's shoulder.

'Thank you Sanderson. It seems your experiment has proven useful after all'.

Sandy fought the urge to shake his hand off. He fought down the pity for Pitch, the senseless anger and the discomfort at the Tsar's harsh decision. Tsar Lunar had saved his life. He was his friend.  
Then what was Pitch?

'Now, please rest my friend', Tsar Lunar said, removing his hand, 'I must get back to fixing the machine. It has just enough power left to send you back to Earth and I want you fit for the fight ahead'.

He turned as he reached the door, the candle he held casting dark shadows into his face. To Sandy's pain hazed mind, the shadows made the Tsar's eyes look like two pinpricks of light in oil.

'I can only beg your forgiveness for doubting you. You have paid a heavy price to convince me of Pitch Black's usefulness. I will not waste it'.

The Tsar closed the door closed behind him. The room grew dark.

Sandy looked out of the porthole and saw the Earth's shining like a blue marble in the distance.  
He felt so tired.  
Not the usual pleasant heaviness that heralded the need for slumber but more of an emptiness that felt like a raw wound was festering in his stomach.  
Was it pity?  
And if so, for whom?  
As he watched the planet turn, he saw a strange sight: a black object against the night sky.  
At first alarmed it was another trick of Pitch's he calmed down as it passed closer. A black balloon.  
The sick feeling grew stronger. The taste of bile mingled with the rusty taste at the back of his tongue.  
That wasn't right.  
The balloons that came to the Tsar were colourful and bright.  
This was wrong.  
He saw more shapes drawing closer.  
A multitude of black balloons their surfaces glistening like leech skin as they flew into the Tsar's observatory.  
He concentrated despite his wounds and heard an eerie echo floating with the balloons.  
Thin screams.  
Children's screams.  
The balloons were carrying their nightmares.  
There were dozens of them.  
Sandy banged his head futilely against the window and wept silently.  
For his failure. For his lost voice. For his lost Tsar.  
And most of all for the lost soul of Pitch Black, the unwitting pawn in the Tsar's plan and the final terrible truth that he had imparted to Sandy.  
He did regret saving Pitch's life.

It would have been kinder to let him burn.

The End.


End file.
